Forever Starts Tomorrow (10 page)

‘Hi.’ He stepped closer, hoping they weren't scaring the boy and his grandmother. The older woman’s eyes widened when she saw him, while the boy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned away, his movement jerky.

Scott's heart stopped for a second as he watched the boy's back. The worn, yet clean, shirt was unable to hide the fact he was very skinny. Somehow he had imagined him as a bulky preteen, confident and strong. Instead he was confronted with a vulnerable child. He understood him, Scott thought dazedly. The way he'd turned away reminded him of his own childhood, when he would've rather died than show people his tears. He’d gotten into trouble in school plenty of times, yet no one ever had the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Except for his uncle and Marnie, of course. José was embarrassed, too, hiding his face from what must have looked like a group of confusing strangers. Scott wanted to assure him that it was OK. He felt amazed at the surge of protectiveness that came out of nowhere and flooded his whole being, pushing aside any reservations.

‘Mrs. Rocha?’ He had to do it right, he reminded himself, aware of the older woman’s eyes on him. ‘I hope I’m not coming at a bad time. I’ve been to your home and talked to Raoul. He told me you’d be here for a while, and I didn’t want to wait longer than absolutely necessary.’

He could hardly tell her that the fact that she didn’t have a working phone line or computer access made it all so much more difficult.

‘No, that’s OK.’ She actually nodded, a friendly expression in her eyes. ‘I don’t get too many visitors. Step in.’

He introduced them then watched the woman’s face break into a smile. Whatever she might hold against his father, it apparently didn’t apply to him, Scott thought with relief. Up to that moment, he worried she’d project her disappointment and dislike on him, throwing him into one pot with his flighty father. But she didn’t.

There were only two chairs in the room, and he left them for Marnie and Melanie. He was too agitated to sit, anyway. Instead, he stepped closer to Mrs. Rocha's bed, trying very hard not to stare at José. The older woman must have noticed his preoccupation, because she smiled again, her bony hand going down to the boy’s shoulder.

‘José, say hallo,’ she prompted, and he turned around, his eyes still red from crying. He stole a quick glance at Scott, and then his eyes drifted to Marnie and Melanie. He mumbled a quick 'Hello,' and looked down at the floor.

‘Why don’t you go and get some of the juice you wanted before?’ His grandmother gestured toward the door, and he nodded in response, looking relieved.

‘I might get a cup of coffee, too,’ Melanie piped in, her blue eyes on the boy’s face. ‘Maybe you can help me find the restaurant around here. I am totally lost.’

It worked, as he rewarded her with a smile—the first one they'd seen since they entered the room.

‘No problem.’ José hesitated only a second before hopping off the bed. As Scott watched him and Melanie leave, he felt his chest expand with warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Melanie had a way with kids. He'd never really thought about it before. Of course he wanted them to have kids and all, but he’d never actually stopped and wondered if she would be a good mother. She had so many other qualities he adored; he’d never bothered thinking about that particular one.

‘I am glad you’re here.’ Maria Rocha was watching him carefully, her hands moving restlessly on the blanket. ‘I was praying you’d come.’

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He had never been a religious person. If he wanted things to happen, he had to do it himself, not wait for some kind of divine intervention. The whole business of asking an omnipotent being to help him felt very passive.

‘I didn’t know about José.’ He felt the need to say it out loud—had to, for his own sake. Suddenly his angry outburst back at the office felt childish, and he needed to distance himself from the person he had been in there—a person who'd thrown out the photograph and refused to believe a single word Dolores said. Melanie was right, he thought, as he listened to the older woman, her weak voice raspy and choppy. José was real, and so far, Scott had acted like a jerk. A comparison to his father proved him to be frighteningly similar and was definitely not flattering.

‘Does he know about me?’ he asked, as she paused for breath, fatigued with talking. ‘Did my father ever mention me or my sister?’

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Maria shook her head. It was expected, given the very clear message his father had sent to his children. He wasn’t interested in acknowledging their existence, let alone keeping in touch. Still, the realization that he wasn’t even worth a few words hurt, and the taste in his mouth was bitter.

‘José adored your father,’ Maria continued, unaware of his misery. ‘Always waited for his visit, no matter how long it took. He was heartbroken when your father didn’t show up, asking me over and over again what did he do wrong. It was breaking my heart to watch him like that.’

She sighed heavily and glanced at the door, probably worried that her grandson might come back and overhear the conversation.

‘When your father stopped coming altogether, José got really quiet. He asked about him a few times, but I had no idea your father was sick. I thought he'd had enough. His wife came once to see me, and I don’t want to even describe how her visit went. She told me that her husband was dead and that she didn’t want to hear from us ever again. She brought some of the little things José had made for him over the years. A small cardboard box dumped on the doorstep. She didn’t even keep her voice down, so José heard everything.’

She blinked away her tears, visibly agitated. Scott worried she’d get sicker, the way her voice shook as she spoke about the past. That would be just like Dolores, coming and making a mess of things, as if his father hadn't done a great job of that already.

‘I’ll be here for a few days.’ Maria reached out and took a sip from the cup, her hands almost transparent with their paper-thin, parchment-like skin. Scott watched her fingers, which were calloused and thick with what must have been years upon years of hard work. She deserved a break, he thought, a plan forming in his head. He was a doer, not a dreamer—as he used to say to some of his slower workers. He liked having a plan, a vision, a clear path that would lead to whatever objective he deemed important.

‘He could come and stay with me,’ Scott said, before he could think it over and take back the offer. His real father, Tom Masden, used to say that there were things that required thinking, and then there were things that needed a leap of faith, an instant jump into the eye of the cyclone.

He had a feeling it was one of those instances.

‘I can have him over for a few days,’ he repeated, his voice strong and convincing. ‘It’s not like he’s going to miss school or anything.’ The timing was really lucky that way. The summer break had just started, and he had a feeling José wasn’t really planning on going to any of the summer camps his friends’ children visited every year. He could well imagine that José’s summer would consist of running errands, helping in the house, and probably hanging out with some other kids in the neighborhood.

However, Scott didn’t want to think beyond a few days. Who knew whether they would get along?

‘You’d do that?’ She seemed genuinely surprised, and a ghost of a smile appeared on her weathered face. ‘He could live with you in your house?’

‘Sure.’ He smiled back, feeling easier. ‘He’d have his own bedroom, and I’d show him around San Francisco and my company. Plus, we could get to know each other better.’

‘What about your
prometida
? What does she have to say about that?’ Maria shook her head. ‘You know that it is the woman who runs the heart of the house,
si
? Will she mind having José around?’

‘No, she was the one who insisted I come to see him in the first place.’ Melanie did want him to build a relationship with José. For a second, he had to think about Vanessa, whose exotic beauty couldn't compensate for the fact that she’d probably make a wide circle around José, if their paths ever had the misfortune to cross.

As if on cue, the door opened and Melanie stepped in, followed by a much more animated José. The boy was smiling, his dark eyes full of life. He carried two boxes of juice and a little bag of sweet-potato chips. As they entered, he was chatting with Melanie, his voice still high-pitched and childish.

‘José, come here,’ his grandmother said. Her hand patted the immaculate white sheets in an invitation that wouldn’t be refused. His eyes went from his grandma to Scott and back, making the connection. For a moment, Scott thought he’d refuse, but José turned out to be a better listener than he or Marnie had been at that age. He hesitated for a brief moment before sitting down, the juice box still in his hand.

‘Yes?’ He glanced at Melanie as if seeking reassurance, and Scott felt a clump rising in his throat. He recalled the first time he saw his uncle, when his mom dropped him and Marnie at his house. He had made an instant connection that lasted a lifetime.

‘I thought it would be nice if we got to know each other a bit better,’ he started, having no idea what one should say to a child like José. Somehow “I am your brother” didn’t really feel like the right choice. He racked his brains, trying to remember what a twelve-year-old would find interesting. Probably something hands-on. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and turned on the screen, searching for images.

‘Here, this is what I do.’ He handed it to José with an encouraging smile. ‘Take a look.’

‘Cool, it’s a robot!’ José grinned, his eyes glued to the screen. ‘You build robots? That’s awesome!’

‘We are working on few prototypes.’ Scott pointed to the next picture, of a robotic arm with wires attached. ‘We are designing different forms of artificial intelligence to use in medicine, science, everyday life. Have you heard of Margo?’

It was the bestseller that had brought his company from obscurity to its current standing. Named after Marnie and his aunt Georgina, the robot had been selling like crazy on markets in Asia, Europe, and North America.

‘Could I come and see your lab?’ José looked up, his expression hopeful. ‘Just a peek. I mean, my friends in school would just go crazy if they knew I saw it.’

‘Sure, if you want.’ So far so good. Robotics had been only a part of his company’s field of interest, but if that's what kept José interested, so be it.

‘Scott?’ José hesitated, sounding worried. ‘I mean, is it OK to call you Scott?’

‘Go for it.’ He nodded, aware of Maria watching them together. He hoped he wasn’t doing too badly.

‘When could I come?’ The boy fidgeted in his seat. Scott caught a glimpse of skinny knees covered with scrapes and bruises. ‘I can come most days. Now that grandma is here, I am pretty much free to do what I want, all the time.’

He didn’t realize how bad it sounded, of course. Why would he? He was a twelve-year-old kid, after all. But his innocent comment spoke volumes about the care he was receiving.

‘I have an idea.’ He decided to take a gamble and see what happened. Sometimes one needed to be brazen; he'd learned that in his business a long time ago. ‘Why don’t you come and stay with me for a few days? Your grandma said it would be OK, as long you wanted to.’

‘But I don’t know you at all.’ José looked to his grandma, confused. ‘Why would I stay with a stranger, grandma?’

‘He is not a stranger.’ Maria patted her grandson’s hand and looked at him with affection. ‘
Querido
, your father told Scott about you and asked him to come visit you.’

OK, so she's not completely honest, Scott thought. The truth got stretched a bit too far for his liking, but he had to trust that she knew what she was doing. The connection to his father would make him feel better, for sure. The idea that his father had cared about José and made arrangements for his care would fill, in part, the feeling of loss his death had created.

‘My dad?’ José stared at him with huge eyes. ‘You knew my dad, Scott? How come?’

Long before you were born, he was married to my mom. Why was it so hard to say the words? He’d prefer a whole boardroom of weathered businessmen to that conversation, hands down. Scott had never been one to feel tongue-tied—the opposite, really. If he was to believe some of the business magazines that featured articles on his company, he had the ability to charm the fish out of the sea. But now the sweat gathered on his forehead as he prepared to speak.

‘He’s my dad too.’ He actually said it. He was only marginally aware of everyone else in the room; the sense of freedom the words gave him was overwhelming. He wasn’t an emotional person, he’d liked to believe. He had forced himself not to give in to feelings in the years that followed the realization that, for most part, following emotions opened the gates for others to hurt him.

‘Your dad?’ José blinked, overwhelmed, and Scott worried that he was rushing things too much. Help came from Marnie, who so far had listened quietly and let him take the lead. She decided to step in, speaking with her usual fervor.

‘My dad too,’ Marnie said. ‘So you see, we're related. I'm glad. I always wanted a much younger brother. Scott didn’t really let me boss him around enough.’

A hesitant smile replaced José's stunned expression.

‘So… I have a brother and a sister?’ He looked back to his grandma. ‘Is that true?’

‘Absolutely.’ She nodded, her eyes shining with tears. She searched the pocket of the little cardigan she wore over her night gown. A small white hanky appeared in her hand, and she wiped her eyes, blotting away the moisture.

‘That’s so cool.’ José looked at Marnie and Scott, his dark eyes bright with joy. ‘I didn’t know that Papa had other children. He never said anything at all. Maybe he planned a surprise reunion, what do you think?’

Not in a million years. Scott bit his tongue, the cynical words begging to be let out. José might have childishly believed in love and care where their father was concerned, but he knew better. The last thing his father cared for was the unity of his family.